Chapter One – “Which of You Remembers?”

  Scene 1: Routine

  At 6:30, my alarm told me it was time to start pretending again.

  I let it buzz. Let it buzz again. When it hit 6:48, I got up not because I wanted to, but because Coach Peters liked his kids puking before sunrise.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed and immediately smacked my shin against the bottom bunk. Still not used to it being there. No idea why we ever had one. Maybe it came with the place.

  Navy uniform. ID chip. Synthetic protein bar. The daily rituals of looking normal enough to be invisible. I checked my phone two texts from Diego about Rivera’s party. Nothing from Elisa.

  Dad knocked on the bathroom door while I was brushing my teeth.

  “You’re gonna be late again, RoRo,” he called.

  I spat into the sink. “Got it covered.”

  Dad was in the kitchen, his Liaison Office uniform already pressed and perfect. The silver administrative pin gleamed against the gray fabric. The news feed scrolled silently on the wall screen grain quotas exceeded, infrastructure project completed ahead of schedule, unified progress across all sectors.

  There was a framed photo turned face-down on the counter. I picked it up automatically Dad snatched it before I saw it.

  “Just cracked glass,” he muttered, and dropped it in a drawer. But I could’ve sworn there were three people in the frame.

  He glanced up then at the clock. Then right back down. Classic dodge. Dad never looked directly at the news feed. Not since Mom.

  “I’ve got that scholarship interview next week,” I reminded him. “Need the car.”

  “We’ll see,” he said, which was Dad-speak for “probably not.”

  “Coach says San Marcos is looking at me. State school. Close enough that I won’t need residency clearance.”

  Dad’s eyes snapped up, a hardness there I rarely saw. “Lower your voice.”

  I shrugged, but my heart rate picked up.

  “Just focus on finishing this year first,” he said, his voice dropping to barely audible. “Things are… tightening up again.”

  For a second, I saw that haunted look he always got on the anniversary of Mom’s death. Like he knew something he couldn’t say. But it was gone before I could ask what he meant.

  Outside, the air had that weird metallic tang it always got when the weather systems were adjusting. I instinctively touched the ID chip in my wrist as I passed the neighborhood scanner.

  Diego was waiting at the corner, looking half-asleep.

  “Dude,” he said when I walked up. “You coming to Alvarez’s tonight?”

  “If practice doesn’t kill me.” I pulled out my phone. “Rivera says his cousin can get us actual beer. Not that synthetic crap from last time.”

  Diego snorted. “Yeah, because that ended so well for Chen.”

  We both glanced around automatically, but the nearest observation pod was across the street, focused on the commercial zone.

  “You hear from Martinez?” I asked as the bus approached.

  Diego’s expression closed off. “Nah. His mom says he went to stay with family up north.”

  Translation: Martinez was gone. Maybe he’d said something stupid. Maybe he’d looked at the wrong person. Maybe he’d just been in the wrong place.

  “Sucks,” I said, my standard response to things I didn’t want to think about. “He owes me twenty credits.”

  Diego forced a laugh as we boarded. We both knew Martinez wasn’t coming back, but acknowledging it would make it real.

  The bus ride to school was loud with everyone talking about the volleyball semifinals. San Antonio East had crushed Westlake, thanks mostly to Elisa’s killer serves.

  “Did you see Westlake’s libero crying?” Diego said, grinning. “Elisa destroyed her.”

  “That last serve was brutal,” I agreed. “Ninety miles an hour, right to her face.”

  What I didn’t say: I’d spent most of the game watching Elisa’s face, not the ball. The way her eyes narrowed when she focused. The way she never celebrated a point, just reset for the next one. Like she had something to prove.

  As we crossed through the school checkpoint, I deliberately let my collar stay unbuttoned at the top. Small act of defiance, but it felt good. The monitor at the gate narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Violation, Ramirez. Fix it.”

  I stared back for two seconds too long before complying. Diego’s jaw clenched, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against his leg.

  “Seriously?” he hissed as we passed. “They pulled Hernandez last week for dress code. Three days in compliance counseling.”

  “They can’t process everyone,” I said, though my pulse had quickened.

  We passed the achievement wall every smile identical, every name tagged in Directive blue. When I was a freshman, they used to let people choose their own pose. Not anymore.

  The hallway parted suddenly. A girl with rainbow shoelaces the kind you couldn’t get anymore was being escorted by two monitors, her face blank with shock. Her tablet dangled from her hand, screen cracked.

  “What’d she do?” I whispered to a kid nearby.

  “Unauthorized history search,” he whispered back. “Some war. The one we lost.”

  I felt a chill despite myself. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

  Elisa was waiting by my locker, hair pulled back, uniform somehow looking better on her than anyone else in school. Every time she smiled like that, something in me flinched.

  “Hey,” she said. “You finish that history assignment?”

  “What history assignment?”

  She rolled her eyes. “The one due third period? The one Mendoza said would be twenty percent of our grade?”

  “Shit.”

  “Relax,” she said, lowering her voice. “I made a copy of mine. Different wording, same sources. You can rewrite it during first period.”

  I grinned. “You’re saving my life.”

  “Again.” Her eyes flicked over my shoulder, and her posture changed subtly. Straightened. More formal.

  Ms. Grier, the Unified Earth Directive liaison, was walking down the hall with her silver pin gleaming. I automatically stood straighter, wiped the expression off my face, and turned slightly as she passed. Not eye contact, but not looking away either.

  The moment she turned the corner, Elisa’s shoulders dropped a fraction.

  “Did you see her shoes?” she whispered. “Black card status.”

  I hadn’t noticed, but I nodded anyway. Black card meant Firstborn access. A favor or a disappearance same speed.

  A freshman was leaning against the water fountain, his tie loose. I watched as a senior girl hissed at him, “Fix that before a monitor sees you.” The kid jerked upright, hands fumbling with his tie. “Yes, ma’am,” he stammered, like she’d caught him stealing.

  The five-minute bell rang. Elisa leaned in close. Coconut. Expensive.

  “My dad got those concert permits for next weekend,” she whispered. “The real thing. Acoustic instruments.”

  “For real?” I repeated, suddenly uncomfortable discussing it here. “How’d he swing that?”

  “He knows someone at the Directive office.” Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and the color drained from her face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, but her hand trembled as she shoved the phone in her pocket. “I’ll tell you at Alvarez’s.”

  She squeezed my arm, hard enough to hurt, before heading off to AP Chem. I stared after her, the pit in my stomach deepening. That wasn’t nerves. That was fear.

  Mr. Abernathy was droning on about civic duty when the announcement came.

  “Attention all seniors,” Principal Holt’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Report to the auditorium immediately for a mandatory assembly. Bring all personal items with you.”

  A collective groan went through the classroom.

  “Another loyalty pledge,” I muttered to no one in particular.

  We filtered into the hallway, joining the stream of navy uniforms. Diego caught up with me, yawning. “Maybe we’ll get out early. Coach wants extra reps before Friday.”

  The halls of San Antonio East High were always the same sickly beige. Like someone had decided the color of disappointment and painted the whole place with it.

  We shuffled into the auditorium, finding seats toward the middle where we could zone out without being too obvious. Diego nudged me, nodding toward the back corner where two Directive security guards stood silently. “That’s new.”

  I shrugged like I didn’t care, but he was right. Security didn’t usually attend these things.

  “Hey,” said Elisa, sliding in beside me. Her eyes were rimmed with red, like she’d barely had time to hide it. “Whatever happens, don’t look up.”

  “What are you ”

  “Don’t. Look. Up.”

  I almost did, just out of reflex, but the terror in her voice stopped me. I kept my eyes forward, heart suddenly hammering.

  The auditorium doors opened. Principal Holt walked in, followed by Ms. Grier from the Unified Earth Directive. Their usual tag team. She’d talk about community standards and the importance of reporting suspicious behavior, and he’d remind us about upcoming civic participation requirements.

  I slouched lower in my seat, Diego already half-asleep beside me.

  But something was wrong. Principal Holt stood at the microphone, mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out. Sweat rolled past his collar, soaking the front of his shirt. Ms. Grier’s face was rigid, her eyes fixed on a point at the back of the auditorium.

  We weren’t students anymore. Just names on a list.

  big 5 hat on now

  I understand - I’ll rewrite Scene 2 with your scaffolding, paying particular attention to:

  The cold clinical horror of the Correction process

  Varin as an imposing 7-foot Firstborn with reconstructed features

  Labs as chemically-enhanced human collaborators

  Marcus protecting Diego and Elisa by claiming all three roles

  The neurological nature of Correction rather than death

  Planting doubt in Nero about who to trust

  Here’s the revised Scene 2:

  Chapter One – “Which of You Remembers?”

  Scene 2: The Interruption

  A heartbeat of silence. Then another.

  I broke Elisa’s rule and started to look up, but her fingernails dug into my arm, deep enough to leave marks.

  “I said don’t,” she hissed, barely audible.

  The whole auditorium was still, confused. Two hundred seniors waiting for Principal Holt to remember how words worked. He just stood there, sweat darkening his collar, throat working like he was choking on glass.

  Ms. Grier finally stepped forward, her heels clicking against the stage. Click. Click. Click. She reached for the microphone, but stopped when the doors at the back of the auditorium opened again.

  The sound was wrong. Not the usual squeak of hinges. More like… a vacuum seal breaking.

  The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

  “What’s happening?” Diego whispered, suddenly awake.

  “Shut up,” I said, staring straight ahead.

  No one turned to look. No one had to. We all knew the footsteps coming down the aisle didn’t belong to a student. Or a teacher. Or anyone who’d once been fully human.

  I’d only seen one once before. When I was nine. Dad had taken me to work with him, and I’d wandered into the wrong hallway. Seen it standing there, seven feet tall, face reconstructed like wet clay molded over muscle and bone, skin stretched too tight across features that were almost human but not quite. Its eyes had tracked me with machine precision. I’d pissed myself. Dad never took me back.

  Ms. Grier’s face went rigid. Not fear something else. Like she was concentrating on not thinking.

  The footsteps stopped. Still, no one turned. Not by choice by instinct. Like part of our brains remembered when we were prey, and movement meant death.

  “Thank you for gathering them,” said a voice from the back, like honey poured over broken glass. “You may be seated.”

  Principal Holt collapsed into the nearest chair like his strings had been cut.

  Elisa’s whole body was trembling. I wanted to put my arm around her, but I couldn’t move. None of us could.

  “Seniors of San Antonio East,” the voice continued. “I apologize for the disruption to your academic schedule.”

  A rustling sound. White fabric over flex-armored muscle. The temperature dropped again.

  “I am Sentinel Varin, oversight delegate for this municipal zone.”

  A Firstborn. Here. In our school. Not on a screen, not in the abstract. Real.

  Diego’s eyes were wide, his throat working as he tried to swallow. A few rows ahead, Taylor Chen was silently crying, tears sliding down her face.

  “Three nights ago,” Varin continued, “three students from this institution aided enemies of peace. They provided food, medicine, and guidance to individuals attempting to cross the Correction Line.”

  My brain snagged on the word ‘three.’ Three students. From our school. Not rumors. Not paranoia. Three specific people who had decided to risk everything. I tried not to think about who they might be.

  More footsteps behind us. Heavy boots. The door opened again, and I heard several people enter. Labs humans who’d chosen to collaborate, pumped with enhancement chemicals that bulked their muscles and dulled their empathy. The ones who’d traded their humanity for status and safety. Dad called them “the faithful dogs” when he thought no one could hear.

  “The guilty may now confess,” Varin said, his voice unnervingly pleasant. “They will be taken for assessment. Their families will not be penalized.”

  Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Someone coughed once, then went silent like they’d been strangled.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Your loyalty is admirable,” Varin said after a long moment. “Misplaced, but admirable.”

  I could feel them spreading out along the back of the auditorium now. The Labs. Human faces, human bodies, but moving with that distinctive chemical precision. The poor bastards who’d decided it was better to be the boot than the neck.

  “For each one who does not come forward,” Varin continued, “five of you will be corrected. You have one minute to consider your choices.”

  “They will not die,” he added, almost thoughtfully. “But they will not return unchanged.”

  A minute. Sixty seconds of absolute silence. I didn’t turn my head, but I could feel Diego’s fear radiating beside me. Elisa’s nails had drawn blood on my arm.

  The minute ended.

  “I see,” Varin said, sounding almost curious. “Loyalty outweighs self-preservation. An interesting choice.”

  I heard Ms. Grier speak then, her voice strained. “Sentinel, surely there’s a protocol ”

  “The first will choose,” Varin interrupted.

  Footsteps moved past our row impossibly light for something so massive. I caught a glimpse of white robes draped over a muscular form that stood at least seven feet tall. The face was what nightmares were made of almost human but reconstructed, like flesh stretched over a mannequin, with features too symmetrical, too perfect to be natural. The skin had a pearlescent quality, catching the light in ways that made my eyes hurt. Varin moved toward the front of the auditorium with the fluid grace of a predator.

  “You,” he said, pointing to the front row. “Stand.”

  Mrs. Keller, our literature teacher, slowly rose to her feet. She was young, maybe thirty, with a baby at home. Everyone knew because she sometimes showed us pictures.

  “Come here,” Varin said.

  She walked to the front, her steps jerky like a puppet with half its strings cut.

  “What is your designation?” Varin asked.

  “A-Amanda Keller,” she said. “I teach literature.”

  “You are familiar with these students?”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  “Select five to be corrected.”

  A collective intake of breath. Mrs. Keller’s face drained of color.

  “What? No, I can’t ”

  “You can. You will. Or I will select ten instead.”

  She turned to face us, tears streaming down her face. For a second, I thought she might refuse. But then her eyes began to scan the crowd, darting from face to face in panic.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t make me do this.”

  “Choose,” Varin said. “Now.”

  Mrs. Keller’s eyes locked with mine for one terrible second. I saw recognition there, then something else. Calculation.

  She raised a trembling hand and pointed at a row near the back. Five students who’d gotten caught smoking behind the gym last week.

  The Labs raised their rifles and fired.

  No sound. No flash. Just five students suddenly rigid, then collapsing.

  Someone screamed. A high, animal sound that barely sounded human.

  “Remain calm,” Varin said, his voice cutting through the chaos. “They are merely being corrected. Two more remain hidden among you. Their continued silence will cost more lives.”

  “They’re still breathing,” Elisa whispered, her voice thick with fear.

  She was right. The fallen students lay motionless but alive, eyes open, staring at nothing. One of them was twitching slightly, his mouth moving silently. Another was staring at the wall, murmuring something that sounded like the pledge of unity we recited each morning.

  “The second minute begins now.”

  No one moved. My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried to think of the three who had helped the Crossers. Were they in this room? Were they watching this happen? How could they not stand up?

  But even as I thought it, I knew I wouldn’t stand either. No matter who they took.

  The minute ticked away in horrible silence.

  “Still so loyal,” Varin said when it ended, sounding almost impressed.

  He turned back to Mrs. Keller, who had collapsed to her knees. “Select five more.”

  She looked up at him, broken. “I can’t. Please. I can’t do this again.”

  “Very well.” He nodded to one of the Labs, who stepped forward. Broad-shouldered male, eyes unnaturally bright from the chemical cocktail they pumped into his system. He pressed something silver against Mrs. Keller’s neck. Her eyes emptied immediately.

  “Perhaps someone else would like to choose?” Varin’s gaze swept the room, stopping on Coach Peters, who was standing at the back with the other faculty. “You. The large one.”

  Coach stood, his massive frame seeming smaller somehow. “This isn’t right,” he said, his voice low.

  “Choose five, or I choose ten.”

  Coach looked around the room, his jaw clenched. His eyes found mine, lingered for a moment, then moved on. He pointed at five juniors who had somehow ended up in the senior assembly.

  The Labs fired again. Five more students dropped.

  One of them struggled back to her feet, confusion on her face. “Where’s my…” she said, voice trailing off as she stared at her empty hands. Then her eyes went blank, and she sat down mechanically.

  I sat frozen, unable to process what was happening. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. But the empty-eyed bodies proved otherwise.

  “One more chance,” said the voice like broken glass. “One more guilty party remains hidden. Five more will be corrected unless they stand now.”

  “This is insane,” I whispered to no one in particular. “Just stand up. What’s one person against all this?”

  The third minute began. I watched the second hand on the wall clock, each movement bringing five more classmates closer to emptiness.

  Then, movement.

  A boy stood up in the middle of the auditorium. Quiet, unremarkable Marcus Treen, who sat at the back of every class. Who never raised his hand. Who I’d gone to school with for years and barely spoken to.

  A flash of memory hit me three days ago, passing Marcus in the hall. He’d been talking to Diego and Elisa, something about Rivera’s party. They’d gone silent when I approached. I’d thought nothing of it at the time.

  He stood slowly. Not shaking. Not proud either just… decided.

  Varin turned his head a few degrees, the muscles in his reconstructed face shifting in ways that weren’t quite right. Beneath the white robe, I could see the flex-armor that covered his massive frame, moving with him like a second skin.

  Marcus’s voice wasn’t loud. But the silence made it a scream.

  “It was me.”

  A few heads turned. Most didn’t move.

  “I helped them. The ones trying to cross. I knew what would happen if I got caught.”

  “And I did it anyway.”

  He looked toward the front never making eye contact with Varin.

  “You want the truth? It wasn’t about politics. It wasn’t about winning.”

  “It was about remembering.”

  He took a breath.

  “They told me their names. They showed me photos of people they’d already lost. Grandparents, siblings. Lovers. Whole towns that don’t exist anymore except in their memories.”

  “So I held onto that. Because if no one remembers them, they’re already dead.”

  He stepped forward once.

  “Whatever food they had, I supplied it. The maps were mine. The ID chip modifications all me.” He glanced around the room. “They didn’t know. Whatever they took from me, I told them it was something else. No one else was involved.”

  A lie. I knew it was a lie, though I couldn’t say why.

  “You can kill me. Use me. Rewrite me.”

  “But for one second, everyone in this room knew the truth. And if even one of them remembers that second ”

  “ then I didn’t lose.”

  Varin’s face remained perfectly still. Only his eyes moved, studying Marcus like a curious specimen.

  “Take him,” he said finally.

  Two Labs moved forward. No violence. No resistance. They flanked Marcus, their enhancement-swollen muscles making them look like caricatures of humans. One pressed something cold and silver to his neck.

  No applause. No crying.

  Just the cold hum of the Correction system beginning to record.

  Marcus’s eyes emptied, his face went slack, but his words hung in the air. I tried to burn them into my memory, even as something inside me was already trying to erase them.

  “You said three,” a voice called out, breaking the silence. My head jerked toward the sound. It was Chen, the volleyball captain, standing shakily in the back row. “He’s just one. Who are the other two?”

  Varin turned, his movements unnaturally fluid. The overhead lights caught on his skin, reflecting wrong, like there was something metallic just beneath the surface.

  “An observant question.”

  He gestured to one of the Labs, who produced a tablet and began tapping on it with fingers too thick for the screen, pumped unnaturally large by whatever cocktail they’d fed him.

  “The two remaining individuals have already been identified,” Varin said. “Their data signatures were traced at the Correction Line crossing point. They will be collected tonight.”

  A ripple went through the crowd. Data signatures. The ID chips in our wrists. They already knew exactly who had helped Marcus.

  “Tonight, three households will be empty,” Varin said, his voice almost gentle. “But only one had the courage to claim his actions.”

  I glanced at the faces around me. Who looked more terrified than the rest of us? Who might be the other two?

  Diego was staring straight ahead, his face carefully blank. But a muscle in his jaw twitched, once.

  Elisa’s hand found mine again, her grip painful. When I looked at her, I noticed something strange her shirt sleeve was pulled down over her wrist where her ID chip should be. Where it always was.

  Were they scared? Or guilty?

  Was I next?

  Varin started walking up the aisle toward the exit, then paused directly beside my row. Standing this close, I could see how wrong his proportions were too tall, muscles too defined under that flex-armor, face too perfect yet somehow incomplete. I kept my eyes forward, barely breathing.

  “Nero,” he said, and my blood froze in my veins. How did he know my name? “Consider today’s lesson carefully.”

  Then he was gone, the Labs following with Marcus walking blankly between them. The ten corrected students remained in their seats, vacant. Mrs. Keller stood on stage, empty-eyed.

  I didn’t ask questions. Just ran.

  Principal Holt stumbled to the microphone, his voice cracking. “D-dismissed. Classes are canceled for the remainder of the week.”

  Elisa grabbed my wrist hard before slipping away.

  “Find Diego. Meet us at the old overpass. Northeast road. You know the one.”

  Then she was gone.

  We filed out in silence, past the metal gates, into the hot Texas afternoon. Nobody spoke. Nobody cried anymore. We just walked like sleepwalkers, the weight of what we’d witnessed and what we’d failed to do hanging over us all.

  As we reached the school entrance, I noticed two things that didn’t make sense.

  Elisa’s sleeve, still pulled down over her wrist where her ID chip should be visible.

  And Diego, slipping away from the main crowd, heading not toward home, but toward the edge of town toward the wilderness beyond the fence.

  Toward the Correction Line.

  The real question wasn’t who they’d take.

  It was who would remember them when they did.

  Chapter One – “Which of You Remembers?”

  Scene 3: Aftermath

  I walked home alone, my shadow stretching long across the baked pavement.

  The streets were quiet. No cars. No people. Just the distant hum of drones overhead, their silver bodies catching the late afternoon sun. They always increased surveillance after a Correction event, not that they’d ever admit such events happened.

  Tomorrow, half the student body would claim they’d been home sick. The other half would pretend they’d seen nothing. The school would be cleaned. The empty desks would be filled with new students who’d “transferred in.” And the names of the Corrected would fade from yearbooks, class rosters, even memories.

  I touched the tender spot on my arm where Elisa’s nails had broken skin. At least that was real.

  My chest felt hollow. I hadn’t moved. I hadn’t stood. I’d just watched.

  And Marcus? Quiet, forgettable Marcus had saved two people’s lives by sacrificing his own mind. Because that’s what Correction was, not death, but something more insidious. Your body kept walking around, smiling, following orders. But whatever made you you was gone.

  I thought of Mrs. Keller standing on that stage, vacant. Her baby would grow up with a mother who looked right but felt wrong.

  When I reached my street, I paused. Something was off. The neighborhood seemed normal, lawns trimmed to regulation height, flags hanging properly, observation pods scanning at their usual intervals.

  Then I saw it. Three houses down, a Lab transport vehicle sat parked in the Rodriguez family’s driveway. Their front door stood open. Sarah Rodriguez, a freshman, sat on the porch steps, crying silently as her mother spoke to two Labs in the doorway.

  They were already collecting.

  I ducked my head and kept walking, shame burning in my throat. I couldn’t look. Couldn’t help. I just kept my eyes on the pavement, counting cracks like I used to when I was a kid.

  Dad’s car was in the driveway when I got home. Unusual. He rarely left the Liaison Office before six.

  The front door was unlocked. I stepped inside, dropping my bag by the entrance. The house felt wrong, too quiet, too still. Like it was holding its breath.

  “Dad?” I called out.

  No answer.

  I moved through the living room toward the kitchen. The news screen was off. Another bad sign. Dad always kept it running.

  I found him at the kitchen table, staring at his hands. A bottle of something clear and expensive sat open in front of him, half empty. His Liaison Office jacket was thrown over the back of a chair, silver administrative pin still attached.

  He looked up when I entered. His eyes were red rimmed.

  “You’re home early,” I said, trying to sound normal.

  “Sit down, RoRo,” he said, voice rough.

  I sat across from him, watching as he poured himself another drink. His hands were steady, but his face looked like it might crack.

  “You were there today,” he said. Not a question.

  I nodded.

  “How many?” he asked.

  “Ten. Plus Mrs. Keller. And Marcus Treen.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “Jesus.”

  A strange feeling crawled up my spine. My father never showed emotion about Corrections. Never acknowledged them at all.

  “Did you know?” I asked, surprising myself. “Did you know they were coming to the school?”

  His eyes flashed with something, anger, maybe. Or fear. “Of course not. They don’t tell us everything.”

  “But you work for them,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended.

  “I work for the Liaison Office,” he corrected. “We coordinate between municipal authorities and Directive oversight. We don’t make decisions.”

  The standard line. The same one he’d been repeating for years.

  “They said three students helped people cross the Line,” I said. “Marcus confessed. But he was lying. He was covering for the other two.”

  Dad’s head jerked up. “What makes you say that?”

  “I don’t know. Just a feeling.”

  He took another drink, then looked at me directly. “Listen to me, Nero. Whatever you think you know, whatever you think you saw today, forget it. All of it. You understand? This isn’t a game.”

  “I know it’s not a game,” I said, heat rising in my face. “I watched them Correct ten kids today. I watched Mrs. Keller get emptied out. I watched…”

  “Stop.” Dad slammed his hand on the table, making the bottle jump. “Just stop.”

  We stared at each other across the table. In the silence, I could hear the hum of drones passing overhead.

  “You think I don’t know what happens?” he said finally, his voice quieter. “You think I don’t see?”

  “Then why do you work for them?” I asked, the question I’d been holding back for years. “Why help them?”

  Something dark passed across his face. For a second, I thought he might hit me. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metallic object, placing it on the table between us.

  A jammer. Illegal. Military grade.

  He pressed a button, and a soft pulse of blue light spread through the room.

  “Four minutes,” he said. “That’s all we get before the system flags an anomaly.”

  I stared at the jammer, then at him. My father, who followed every rule. My father, who kept his head down. My father, who worked for the Liaison Office and never, ever caused trouble.

  “Your mother didn’t kill herself,” he said.

  The words hit me like a physical blow. “What?”

  “You know your mother was involved in things she shouldn’t have been.”

  “And my brother?” The question came out of nowhere, shocking even me. I didn’t have a brother.

  There was a long pause. Dad looked at me, something ancient and tired in his eyes.

  “You don’t have a brother, Nero,” he said softly, and somehow the gentleness of it was more terrifying than anger could ever be. He said it like he believed it.

  He glanced at the jammer. Two minutes left.

  “Mom helped people cross,” he said. “Like your friends did.”

  “My friends?” The floor seemed to tilt beneath me. “I don’t…”

  “Diego. Elisa.” He almost spat the names. “You think I don’t notice? You think they don’t? They’ve been watching them for weeks.”

  I couldn’t breathe. “How do you know this?”

  “Because it’s my job to know. To file the reports. To process the paperwork that erases people.” His face twisted. “To help them decide who to take next.”

  “Then why are you telling me this?” I demanded. “If you’re one of them…”

  “I’m not one of them!” he hissed, leaning forward. “I’m trying to keep you alive. Just like I’ve been doing since they took your mother. Since they took…”

  He stopped abruptly, his eyes darting to the jammer.

  Thirty seconds.

  “Diego and Elisa are gone,” he said quickly. “They cleaned out their lockers this morning, before the assembly. Their families have already been relocated for ‘collaborative reassignment.’ Standard procedure after a crossing assist.”

  “But Marcus…”

  “Marcus Treen covered for them. And when they reconnect his neural pathways, he’ll believe he did it alone. He’ll confess on camera. He’ll warn others not to follow his example. And he’ll forget he ever knew Diego or Elisa.”

  Ten seconds.

  “Dad, I don’t understand…”

  “The junk drawer,” he said, his voice urgent. “The photo you found. Top kitchen shelf, behind the protein bars. There’s a key.”

  The jammer blinked red, then went dark.

  Dad sat back, his face immediately smoothing into its usual blank expression. He poured another drink and raised it slightly, as if in a toast.

  “Another stressful day at the office,” he said, his voice normal again. “How was school?”

  Before I could answer, a knock sounded at the front door. Three sharp raps.

  Dad’s eyes met mine, warning in them.

  I stood, legs unsteady, and went to answer it. Before I reached the door, I glanced back over my shoulder.

  Dad was already at the kitchen drawer, the one I’d spilled earlier. His back blocked my view, but I saw him slip something into his pocket.

  I opened the front door.

  Two Labs stood on our porch, their enhanced frames filling the doorway. Behind them, a Sentinel waited, not Varin, but another one. Shorter. Female, maybe. Hard to tell with their reconstructed features.

  “Nero Ramirez?” the first Lab asked, pupils too wide, voice too flat.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re needed for questioning regarding today’s Correction event at San Antonio East High School.”

  “I, what?”

  Dad appeared behind me, his hand on my shoulder. “My son was in class all day. School records will confirm it.”

  The Lab ignored him, eyes fixed on me. “You had contact with Marcus Treen prior to his confession. We’d like to understand the nature of that contact.”

  My mouth went dry. Contact with Marcus? I barely knew him.

  Then I remembered, the hallway. Three days ago. Marcus, Diego, and Elisa talking by the gym. I’d walked past them.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I hardly knew him.”

  The second Lab produced a tablet. “Records indicate proximity between your ID chip and Treen’s on three separate occasions this month.”

  Dad’s grip on my shoulder tightened. “My son passes hundreds of students in the hallway every day. Proximity doesn’t indicate association.”

  The female Sentinel stepped forward, her pearlescent face catching the fading sunlight wrong. “We’ll need just an hour of your son’s time, Liaison Ramirez. Standard procedure.”

  Dad didn’t move. “As a Level Four administrative officer, I have the right to be present for any questioning of a minor under my guardianship.”

  A pause. The Labs looked to the Sentinel, who seemed to consider this.

  “Very well,” she said finally. “You may accompany him.”

  Dad nodded once. “Let me get my credentials. RoRo, get your ID chip.”

  I turned back toward the house, mind racing. ID chip. Kitchen drawer. Key.

  “One moment,” the Sentinel said. “I believe some clarification is in order. This is not a formal interview. Merely a conversation. Perhaps we could conduct it here?”

  Dad’s face remained neutral, but I could see the calculation behind his eyes.

  “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Please, come in.”

  As they entered, I caught Dad’s slight nod toward the kitchen. I moved in that direction, heart pounding in my throat.

  “I’ll get us all some water,” I said, surprised at how steady my voice sounded.

  In the kitchen, I went straight to the drawer, sliding it open quietly. Birthday candles, rubber bands, a dead lighter, all the same junk from earlier. But now I noticed something else. A small tear in the drawer liner, almost invisible unless you were looking for it.

  I slipped my finger under the tear and felt it, cold metal. A key.

  Behind me, I could hear Dad leading the visitors into the living room, his voice pitched to its professional Liaison Office tone. I had maybe thirty seconds.

  I reached for the cabinet above the sink, standing on tiptoe to feel behind the protein bars. My fingers brushed against something flat and rectangular. A data chip, sealed in clear plastic.

  I pocketed both items and grabbed four glasses from the cabinet, filling them with water from the tap.

  When I returned to the living room, the Labs were standing by the door while the Sentinel and my father sat across from each other, an air of forced civility between them.

  “Ah, thank you, Nero,” Dad said, taking the glass I offered him.

  I distributed the other glasses, careful not to make direct eye contact with any of them.

  “Now,” the Sentinel said, turning her unnerving gaze on me. “Tell me about your relationship with Marcus Treen.”

  For the next forty five minutes, I answered questions about a boy I barely knew. No, I wasn’t friends with him. No, I never spoke to him outside of class. No, I had no idea he was helping Crossers.

  The Sentinel watched me with unreadable eyes as I spoke, occasionally glancing at Dad, who sat beside me, back straight, face neutral.

  “And your friends?” she asked finally. “Diego Vega and Elisa Reyes. When did you last see them?”

  My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression blank. “This morning. Before the assembly.”

  “Not since then?”

  “No. We were supposed to meet after school, but given what happened…” I let my voice trail off.

  “Did they ever mention Marcus to you? Or the Correction Line?”

  “No. Never.”

  She studied me for a long moment, then nodded slightly. “I believe we have what we need. Thank you for your cooperation, Nero.”

  They stood, the Labs moving to flank the Sentinel as she headed to the door.

  “One last thing,” she said, turning back. “There will be a memorial service for the students lost in today’s unfortunate event. Attendance is mandatory. Tomorrow, 10 AM, at the school.”

  Dad nodded. “Of course. We’ll be there.”

  After they left, neither of us spoke for a long time. Dad walked through the house, checking each room, each window. Finally, he returned to the living room and sat heavily on the couch.

  “Pack a bag,” he said quietly. “Just essentials. We leave at midnight.”

  “Leave?” I stared at him. “Leave where?”

  He looked up at me, his eyes hollow. “To find your brother.”

  “We’re not going home,” he added, his voice low.

  “What?”

  “Your friend Diego’s father, he left a channel open. We go dark, we find them. We move east.”

  My mind reeled. There had been a plan all along? Adults working together behind the scenes?

  “Pack light,” Dad said. “One bag. Nothing with a chip or transmitter.”

  I couldn’t form words. Just nodded and went to my room.

  We filed out in silence. As I passed the photo wall, I saw my own picture staring back. Just me. Smiling.

  But why did it feel like someone had been cropped out?

  I didn’t know what was waiting past the city line, just that Elisa and Diego would be there. And maybe, if we moved fast enough, we’d all still be ourselves when we got there.